The chamber thrummed with a low mechanical hum, deep beneath the core of the Bastion. In the flickering light of diagnostic holoscreens, Kael Riven sat motionless at a terminal bench, surrounded by pieces of a machine few in the world could even comprehend.
Scattered across the metal table were fragments of polished black alloy, neural fiber threads, and a visor frame—a new prototype. The next evolution of his most vital tool.
The Neural Net HUD.
The current model was reliable. Efficient. It interpreted facial twitches, vocal tremors, and even biofeedback patterns from those he interacted with. Yet it remained flawed—just like its creator.
Because no matter how accurate the data, Kael still didn't understand them.
Emotion. Irrationality. Weakness masked as kindness. Hope laced with fear. These things confounded him.
He raised the nearly completed frame of the improved HUD and fitted it around his eyes. Lines of code streamed across the lenses—behavioral prediction scripts, neural heuristic refinements, enhanced empathy modules.
Predictable patterns.
Emotional range mapping.
Contextual behavior adjustment.
Still incomplete. But closer.
His work was interrupted by a soft chime—an incoming transmission. Priority encoded. Military channel. Origin: Lucent Alliance Command.
Kael blinked once, and the HUD responded, decrypting the stream midair before him. A grainy image flickered to life—a flickering blue-tinted projection of Chancellor Vaerin Sol, leader of the Lucent Alliance.
The man looked tired. Gaunt. Worn down by years of resistance.
"Kael Riven," he began. "We have not spoken before, though your reputation reaches even into the spine of the Alliance."
Kael said nothing. His HUD was already cataloging the man's voice, micro-movements, pulse variations from the limited audio feed.
Not hostile. Not nervous.
Urgent.
"We're contacting you because the situation is deteriorating. We lost the Altheric Ridge yesterday. Dezune forces are pressing harder, faster, and smarter. Whoever commands them now… is not the fool we faced last year."
Still silent.
Sol continued.
"We know of your Bastion. Of the… power you've amassed. You've remained independent. But we've seen your skirmishes against Dezune forces. We assume you aim for the same end we do—survival. Peace."
Kael's fingers twitched. The phrase stung his ear strangely. Peace. He wanted it, yes—but on his terms. Designed. Controlled.
Sol leaned closer.
"This is a formal request. Weapons. Intel. Tactical data. We won't ask for command interference. Just assistance. In return, we'll open our northern supply routes and outpost networks to your operatives."
Kael's HUD flashed. He processed the offer in milliseconds. Strategic gain: high. Risk of exposure: moderate. Alignment of objectives: partial.
But something lingered.
The Chancellor assumed Kael's intentions aligned with theirs.
That was a mistake.
"You believe we want the same peace," Kael finally said.
Sol narrowed his eyes. "Don't we?"
Kael adjusted the HUD frame on his face. "No. You want harmony. I want order."
The silence that followed was taut.
"Is that a refusal?"
Kael shook his head once.
"It's recognition. I will provide assistance. On my terms. No integration. No oversight."
Sol exhaled. "Not exactly diplomatic, but... expected."
The transmission began to fade, but before it cut, Sol added—
"If you want a world worth ruling, Riven, you'll have to let some of it breathe."
And then, he was gone.
Kael stood, removing the visor and setting it carefully beside the rest of his tools. His expression didn't change, but a thought lingered.
"Let some of it breathe…"
He turned to the viewport overlooking the Bastion's lower levels. Through reinforced glass, he watched as citizens—his citizens—moved through organized paths. Engineers transporting materials. Medics tending to injured scouts. Children playing by a derelict APC-turned-playground.
The children were laughing. Genuine, unfiltered laughter. That, he understood. Children made sense. Simple needs. Predictable behavior. Kael could trace every giggle to cause and effect.
But adults…
Adults were chaos wrapped in routines. They rebelled against logic. They wept for things already lost. They smiled when dying.
Why?
Why couldn't they think like him?
Kael's gaze sharpened as he turned back to the HUD, lifting it again. He murmured quietly to himself, adjusting the empathy module's alignment.
"…If I can't feel it," he said, "then I'll learn to see it."
He activated the prototype.
The HUD lit up once more, its lenses reflecting nothing but cold data and the warm glow of a world he still couldn't touch.